Malfoy Manner: Trick or Treat
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: You're invited to celebrate Samhain with the Malfoys, Potters, Weasleys and assorted wizarding wierdos at Grimmauld Place. Incest and apple-bobbing ahead, so hold on to your masks.
1. Tricks

**Malfoy Manner: Trick or Treat**

Part the First: Tricks

Malfoy Manor was a relatively quiet place. Neither Draco nor his mother minded the silence. In fact, they reveled in it. Draco (despite his mother's pursed lips and scowls) enjoyed the freedom of slapping barefoot into breakfast or perusing the Daily Prophet in his shirttails against the kitchen counter. And although she tisked at these antics, she didn't make great protest when he saw fit to fuck her senseless on the breakfast table or the kitchen counter or against the wall in the library or in her garden tub or behind the shrubberies on the back lawn. They had glorious run of the house, and she'd started to care less for the elf's possible discovery of their activities. (She still didn't believe Draco when he purported that the creature already knew.)

They'd relaxed into a raunchy and regular routine, it seemed. Draco arose from their badly skewed bed each morning, went to the Ministry for some Board of Governors meeting, was bored out of his skull, played nice with dusty old codgers, lunched with seething, greedy lawyers and finally buggered out as fast as he could to step out of green flame and into waiting pale arms and kisses better recorded by muggle pornographers.

They were insatiable, really. The witch who'd waited half her life for happiness had found it at last with the wizard who'd lived his whole life to make her happy. And as she knew that by right of birth he was hers, he knew by right of love that she was his. So they lived a secret less salacious and more Byronic than anyone in their world could have imagined.

Even the Fates could not interrupt their idyll – though the Bitches often tried.

"Mother."

"Hm."

Draco took a sip of wine, smacked his lips. "Excellent rack."

"Yes, Mint has surpassed even our grandest dinner expectations."

"I didn't mean the lamb." He winked, and a graceful hand fluttered to her modestly clad cleavage.

"Draco…" But she smiled just the same.

His teeth snapped through a fresh green bean. "I ran into Potter today."

"Oh? Is he well?"

Draco shrugged. "He's Potter. He's excited about the new quidditch pitch."

"Yes. How goes the construction?" She wrapped her lips around a bacon-wrapped fig and Draco shifted uncomfortably.

"It's progressing quickly. About six weeks –" He coughed when she licked a dot of cream from the edge of her mouth "- and it should be complete."

"That's quick. Mmmmm." She closed her eyes and swallowed the bite of creamed potato. Draco's fingers tightened around the stem of his wineglass. "These potatoes are excellent."

"Yes. They're quite good." She dabbed at a non-existent spill on her chest. She knew damn well she was killing him. "Mum."

"Son?"

He was hard as a rock and trying desperately to be as nonchalant as she was. "Potter had an invitation for us today."

"Oh?" She sucked mint jelly from her finger. "What sort of invitation?"

"To a Hallow's Eve gathering. At Grimmauld Place."

"I suppose you accepted the invitation?" The tip of a braised asparagus spear teased her plump bottom lip.

"I did." He was terribly hoarse. Sipped his wine.

"Sounds lovely." A drop of butter skated down her chin. Her tongue swiped at it sinfully. "I haven't been to Grimmauld since I was a girl visiting my cousins."

"Well, now's your chance to visit again." He rose from the table. "Do you want to –"

"Shall we bring anything to this Hallow's Eve gathering?" She seemed in no hurry to leave the table, even leaned back to give him a startling view down her corsetry.

His nostrils flare. "No. Nothing. Let's –"

"Costumes?" Her eyes were slits and she smiled like a minx.

"Yes, he said something about costumes." Draco spoke hastily, his patience and trousers tightening exponentially. "Now, shall we retire to our bedroom? Or would you prefer I take you here? Again?"

She pursed her lips, thinking, then pushed away from the table. "Such a demanding dragon you've become."

"You make me insane." He followed her from the dining hall, already shedding his jacket and oxford. Her low witchy chuckle became a surprised yelp when he tugged her into an empty guest bedroom on the first floor.

Draco particularly enjoyed guestroom sex. It had a peculiar anonymity to it usually reserved for hotel rooms – a feeling of disconnection that made their cries a little louder and their joinings a little more abandoned. Not to mention this room had a wall of windows curtained in sheer tulle, so Draco was able to see his lover in a glorious natural light that flattered her nicely.

He'd noticed a rather disturbing trend in her lately – a sort of hiding. He worried she was growing self-conscious for some reason. She'd also taken to fretting before her mirror more often, and he'd noticed the way she scowled at her body or pulled at the skin of her face.

Even now, in their sweaty afterglow, she pulled a satiny throw around her nakedness before snuggling against him. "So. Hallow's Eve."

He kissed the top of her head. "Hallow's Eve. You'll come with me, then?"

"I suppose."

"Potter did invite both of us."

"Of course he did." She squirmed when Draco tugged at her covering, attempting to peek at her breasts. "Stop it." She swatted his hand. "Potter certainly acts peculiar around us. Strange that he's always inviting us to his events."

"Mayhaps he wishes to shag you?" Draco asked playfully. Though the thought gave him brief pause.

She chuckled and his hand crept underneath the throw. "Mayhaps it's _you_ he wishes to shag."

"Oh, mother." He tumbled her beneath him, laughing. "You're evil."

"That might not be so bad, really…"

His laughter evaporated and he watched her sparkling eyes. "What?"

She tucked hair behind his ear. "Might be rather nice is all…two lovely, lovely boys…and me."

"You're not serious."

She kissed him, sucked his bottom lip. It did less to soothe and more to excite. "Of course not, darling."

Draco was unconvinced of her sincerity. Even after sleep claimed him that evening, he dreamt seething scenarios of his mother and Harry Potter in decadent and compromising positions of all sorts. Several times he woke on a gasp or a yelp, each time seeing his bedmate, lover and mother peacefully at rest with a small smile curving her lips.

The restless evening left him spent and sleeping late. When he finally cracked his eyelids, he was assaulted by bright midday light. He grunted and turned his head, nearly screaming when Mint's giant-eyed face filled his vision. "Elf!"

"Master has an important owl."

"How long have you been standing there?" Draco scrambled to gather the duvet around him, painfully conscious of his nudity.

"Long enough." With that, the elf deposited a rolled parchment on the bed and popped away.

"You infernal inbred little toad!" But he knew his insult was wasted. The creature was gone. Draco sighed and took up the parchment.

His mother was in the library, legs curled underneath her and a book in her hands. Her brown skirt hung over the chaise, nearly brushing the floor. She looked up when she heard him enter. "Well, good morning."

He scowled. "Sorry. I didn't sleep well last night." He sat at the end of the lounge and took her stockinged feet into his lap, rubbing them automatically. "What are you reading?"

"_My Two Wizards_."

He gulped audibly. "I doubt I want to know what that's about."

"It's about –"

"I need to go to the Ministry for an emergency meeting."

"Oh." She closed her book. "Is everything all right?"

"One of the board members died. Apparently a vote is needed to stop a coup."

She tisked. "Politics."

"Mm. Want to come with me? I thought you might like shopping and some lunch out."

"Always," she answered. "I thought to find us costumes, anyway." She rose and stretched. "Meet me in Diagon after the meeting?"

"I will." They kissed, and parted ways to ready themselves.

The meeting was utter supreme bollocks in Draco's opinion. It seemed that no matter how many years the Board of Governors had under their belts, they simply couldn't seem to cease behaving like petulant children. And even after all the nattering and arguing had been corralled by Kingsley, the grumblings continued. But the Minister himself seemed to have little patience for such shenanigans this day, and tabled any nominations for the seat until after Samhain holidays.

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed in his nearly hidden corner seat. Two wasted hours… He could only imagine how many pairs of shoes his mother had acquired, and rose to leave with the rest of the griping idiots.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

Draco twisted, his long cape swirling around his ankles (a maneuver he'd learned from Severus Snape) and waited for Shacklebolt to catch up. "Minister?"

Kingsley nodded to the last ancient straggler and shook his head. "Never gets any easier, I'm afraid."

"Rather like babysitting."

The Minister's laugh was rich, and his good-natured slap on the back nearly toppled Draco. "Indeed, indeed, Mr. Malfoy." He sobered, and led Draco down the hallway toward the lifts. "I wanted to ask you if you planned on attending Harry's Hallow's Eve party this weekend?"

Draco nodded, know Shacklebolt could give two shites for _his_ presence, but fully intending to make the Minister as awkward as possible. "Yes, I will be there. Harry asked me personally, so I could hardly refuse."

"Good! Good." Another back pat, and yes, it was quite awkward. "And um…your mother?"

Draco hoped he hid his smile well enough. "Oh, I believe she plans to attend with me, yes."

"Ah. Good." At the lifts, Kingsley took a deep breath. Draco waited. "Mr. Malfoy…in regard to your mother…"

"Yes, Minister?" The blonde's toes were practically curling in anticipation.

But a lift gate slid open and nearly thirty witches and wizards spilled noisily into the corridor, muffling Kingsley's question and making further conversation impossible. "Some other time!" Kingsley had to shout over the din.

Draco fought through the maelstrom onto the lift. "Very well, Minister!" He shouted back. Passengers began speaking floor numbers, and Draco settled in for the insane ride to the lobby. He flooed into the Leaky Cauldron and stepped into a surprising number of greetings. It seemed several members of the Board had decided to luncheon there after what Draco intended to call 'The Debacle.' He nodded genially at them, but did not linger to be webbed into stultifying conversation.

Instead, he headed directly to Flourish and Blott's where he found his mother tucked in a comfy chair beneath a window. She'd swept her hair up in a loose bun and tendrils of it coiled around her graceful neck. She was reading, and her face was the peaceful mask he often saw when she slept. (Not that he watched her sleeping that often, really – only when he woke in the night and the moonlight drew his eyes to her prone form beside him.) He looked at her for a moment before approaching and sweeping his fingers across the back of her neck. She jumped. "Merlin!"

"No. But close."

"Cheeky," she commented, closing the book in her lap. Draco eyed it suspiciously. She could certainly get into some questionable genres. But this one seemed safe enough. _The Hundred Shades of Puce. _Probably about make-up or interior decorating…

"Ready for lunch?"

She rose, stretching. "Yes."

"Buying that book?" He nodded to the volume on the arm of her chair.

"No. It's utter shite." She hooked an arm through his. "What's for lunch?"

"I was thinking steak."

"You're always thinking steak." The door's brass bell heralded their departure from the bookstore. Outside, the streets bustled with witches and wizards weighted down with packages from primarily two places: Crispin Crunch's Candy Cache or Incognitus Costumerie. It was that time of year…

Draco navigated his mother smoothly through the crowds, nodding and smiling at faces that nodded and smiled at them. Her loose hair occasionally flicked at his shoulder, and the brisk October winds pinkened her cheeks. In the foyer of his favorite restaurant, he addressed her. "Have you given any thought to our costuming, mum?"

"Not really. I thought we would see what's available."

"It may be rather picked over, by now. We're a bit late."

"Fashionably late." An elf lead them to a sunny table near the front windows. Narcissa occasionally looked up and smiled wistfully at the excited faces of the children rushing past.

Draco noticed, but didn't say anything. Her birthday was approaching, and every year she grew more and more pensive and moody around this time of year. All he could do was keep her distracted. "I think since this is our first Halloween celebration since…well, for a long time now, we should do something really elaborate."

"Such as?" She slurped down raw oysters with impressive grace. Draco found it oddly alluring the way she tipped the shellfish down her throat.

"Er…I don't know." He leaned forward excitedly and snagged an oyster before they disappeared. "But definitely something big. A real attention grabbing mother-son duo."

"Oedipus and Jocasta?"

He blanched. "Not quite so…incesty maybe." Sometimes he wondered at her odd morbid humor. "Plus I'd rather not have to perfect a glamour for gouged-out eyes. But the Greek theme is nice."

"Maia and Hermes?"

"Perhaps." Their steaks arrived. "We'll see if they have any of those little boots with wings, I guess."

Draco insisted upon dessert, mainly because he liked watching his mother eat it, so by the time they entered the madness of the costume shop, he was hard as a rock and ready for a fitting room fuck. Unfortunately, the shop was overrun with children and harried parents, ensuring that the fitting rooms were quite full. Feeling more than slightly out of her element, Narcissa opted to wait for a dressing room while Draco browsed for costumes.

The selection was maddening for a pureblood such as himself who had little or no experience with muggle culture. It seemed that every year, the wizarding world was becoming more and more fascinated with being muggle for a day. Thusly, he barely recognized some of the strange combinations hanging on racks or waltzing about on charmed headless mannequins.

He toyed with the idea of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, but doubted his mother would agree to sporting the detached head under her arm all night. Same with Marie Antoinette and Louis.

Vampires could be fun, but he rather wanted to stay away from anything he'd actually _known_ in life, not to mention the vampire costumes this year all seemed to sparkle for some reason. _Ridiculous._

A rather morose section of the store sported Bauta masks and death shrouds of all shapes and sizes. _And just who the hell thinks being a dementor is at all amusing?_

The sexy witch department had him grinning. There were even charmed wigs that might have been dangerous. But after flicking through a few selections, he was reminded too strongly of his Aunt Bellatrix and felt an odd pang in his chest.

He'd reached the very back of the shop and was nearly convinced that all was lost when he saw it. An imposing and regal conglomeration of silks in ivory, dusky pink and gold. It was exquisite and skimpy and housed behind glass. Obviously meant to adorn his mother. He quickly flagged down a vexed shopgirl. "Excuse me!"

The girl had flyaway black curls and an expression of extreme irritation. "Yes?"

"Could I get that costume there, please?" He gestured to the case.

She tisked and sneered. "That's not just any costume, you know. It's the goddess herself."

Draco looked back at it. "The goddess?"

"The only one that counts, anyway," the girl added. "Aphrodite." Her eyes misted and Draco could tell she was one of _those_ – googly-eyed and love-obsessed.

"You were a Gryffindor, weren't you?"

Her sneer turned to a full scowl. "I graduated Beauxbatons!"

"Forgive me." Draco gave a brief bow. _That explains it. _"I merely assumed your…bold beauty was of the house of the lion." He glanced at her. She tittered and melted. It was working.

"Well…my mother was a Gryffindor." She coiled a strand of hair around her finger, and when she released it, it orbited her head.

"Then I wasn't too far off," Draco winked.

The girlish giggle sealed her fate. "I'll get it for you." They approached the case and the girl withdrew her wand. "Um…for your girlfriend?" She asked shyly.

"No." The case whissed open and the urge to touch the silk was almost overwhelming. Draco clenched his fists. "It's for my mother."

"Oh!" Her surprise was obvious. "Well. Is she here to try it? It's actually charmed to fit. Self-adjusting."

"I think it will fit just fine." _And will eliminate the wait for a fitting room. _"Do you have Eros?"

"We do." She looked at him as she closed the case. "Looking to make a matching set?"

"Yes," he answered. "I'll take them both, if you don't mind."

Her brows rose. "Very well. I'll have them boxed at the front counter. What's the name?"

"Malfoy."

"Oh!" He recognized the utterance as he swept away to find his mother. It was the one that came from people who knew the name but not the faces – the ones who'd read the unauthorized biographies and gossipy new 'histories' of the second wizarding war. The ones who had to reconcile the old reputation with the one they were learning now: Death Eater come Do Gooder. He didn't mind it much. In fact, he rather enjoyed the infamy.

"Come on." He tugged his mother gently by the arm.

"Now?" She spluttered. "But I'm next in line for the –"

"Not necessary," he told her. "It's taken care of."

"Taken care of?" They wove through the crowd to the front counter. "Draco, what have you done?"

"You'll love it. Malfoy." The clerk offered him an elaborately scripted bill of sale and Draco wand-tapped it. He could _feel_ his mother's suspicion as he took the rather small boxes.

"You could have consulted me."

"No. I really couldn't." He tugged her again out the door and sighed heavily once they were on the cobblestone. "Sorry, mum, but that place was making me barmy."

"What's in those tiny packages?" Her elbow nudged his rib.

"Costumes, mum."

"_Two _costumes?" She stopped, disbelief bringing them up short. "That's not possible. Are they shrunken?" She reached for them.

Draco held them above her head, grinned when she remembered they were in public and gave up. "It better not be a sexy witch costume." She clicked ahead of him a ways.

"You're already a sexy witch, mum." He growled in her ear when he jogged to catch up. "But I do think it's quite…alluring."

She stopped again just outside the Leaky Cauldron. "Draco…"

He could tell by the way she bit her lip that she was truly bothered. "Mother." Quickly and discretely, he touched her jaw. "We'll have a talk when we get home."

But when they stepped from the floo into their drawing room, Narcissa seemed perfectly content to avoid any serious discussions. He followed her clicking up the stairs to their chambers. "How was the meeting? You didn't tell me."

"It was a farce. Mother –"

"Did they name a new Governor?"

"No. Mother –"

"I was thinking –"

"_Mother_!"

Finally, she turned to face him. "Yes, darling?"

Draco tossed the parcels onto their bed and approached her, took hold of her shoulders and made her face him. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"The thing you do every year near your birthday."

She shrugged him off and went to her jewellery armoire. "Nonsense." She began roughly removing her earrings, necklace and rings, shoving them into their proper places. Done, she slammed the armoire closed and turned to her vanity. Draco watched helplessly as she jerked an elaborate barrette from her hair, allowing it to cascade over her shoulders.

"Narcissa."

"It's just a terrible trick of the gods is all," she said quietly. She sank onto the vanity bench, fussed at the buttoned cuff on her blouse.

"What's a trick?" When he stepped forward to help with her shirt, he saw the tears in her eyes.

"To sneak the years away from a witch like a thief..."

A few of the tears escaped and Draco dropped to his knees. He absolutely could not bear to see this woman cry. "Mother, you're still practically a girl for a witch! Hell, a bloke once asked me if you were my bloody wife! You've got a thousand years left to –"

"Draco."

He swallowed. "Yes?"

"Do you know how old I am?"

He tried to do some quick calculations, but as usual, he was lacking some piece of information or other. Namely this time – the year his mother was born. "Um…"

"Suffice it to say I'm around half a century."

"So?" She started to stutter a defense, but he stood, stalked to their bed and thrust the costume parcel in her face. "Put it on."

"Draco."

"Just put it on." His entire bearing said he would not take 'no' for an answer as he began shedding his own sharp suit. Narcissa sighed in defeat and headed for the lavatory. Draco watched her go. _Silly witch. Thinks she's fucking ancient? _He attacked the packaging on his own parcel. _Suppose I'll simply have to show her._

_The beauty of a goddess is forever._

**AN: **Just in time for Hallow's Eve, a new serving of sticky and sweet Malfoy malfeasance. Part the second may not post until after the holiday, but rest assured _Treats _is worth the wait. I wish you all a Happy Samhain, and may the veil bring you close to all you've loved and lost.


	2. Treats

Malfoy Manner: Trick or Treat

Part the Second: Treats

Draco's costume was relatively easy to operate. He quickly mastered the sapphire blue toga, thinking it made him look a bit of a poof until he added the weighty shoulder clasp. His brows rose as he regarded the mirror. _Rather savage looking for a heart. _He fingered the chiseled bronze and detailed embroidery in the white velvet sash. _Quite regal, really. _And the crown of hearts and arrows was a nice touch…

The lavatory door opened. He turned and gaped.

"I'm not certain this is appropriate." Narcissa groused. She stood in the muted light from the loo, holding the lengths of her pink silk wrap in both hands. "And I may not have put it on properly. I can't decide where all these silver strips go, and I think I may be missing one or two. Draco?"

She'd said something about silver something, but all her son could see was magnificent skin. "God's bollocks," he murmured. "Mum…" The long rope cord of her gilded girdle drew his eye down inches and inches of exposed leg and her little feet were bare. She stood on her tiptoes, years of high heels having nearly trained her feet to that position.

"I think it's a bit…sparse."

"Uh-huh." He gestured for her to turn. Her criss-crossed back showed off the precious cluster of beauty marks just above her firm bum. The erection came so fast it left him light headed. "I can't take you out in that."

"I told you it was sparse!" She flushed pink and gathered scraps of silk and tulle, attempting unsuccessfully to cover her many bare bits. "I appreciate the thought, Draco, but I'm hardly a girl any longer."

He grabbed her arm before she could shut herself up in the lav again. "I agree wholeheartedly with that assessment, Narcissa." And before she could speak, he muffled her mouth with his own, pressed her into the doorframe. Momentarily shocked by his impassioned osculation, she froze under his wandering hands and intense gaze.

He didn't grope or squeeze or push or grab or bruise. He adored. He worshiped. "You have no idea, do you?" His thumb just teased at the edge of silver strategically covering her right breast. "That with every year you abhor so strongly, you grow more and more beautiful."

Holding to a soft hip, he dipped his finger lazily into her navel. She gasped, nipples hardening against the thin material. "Draco…" She shuddered when he put his lips to the protuberance, felt the heat of his mouth through the moist cloth.

Then her fingers were exploring as well, reaching into the folds of his toga to stroke his own bare skin and seek out his hardness. "Ugh," he grunted when she found it, slid a leg between hers. She set to working him with deft tugs and twists, kissing and biting at his lips as he hissed and whispered. "The perfect Aphrodite," he murmured. "Will you bless me, goddess?" His own exploring fingers flicked open the breach of her skirt and found her slit weeping heat.

She stroked a leg up his side, hands impatiently grappling with his toga. "I'll baptize you, son," she promised throatily. The bright afternoon sun through their bedroom windows turned Draco's hair to spun gold. Narcissa thrust her fingers in it. "My splendid Eros."

Her baptism was one of saliva and liquid lust. Draco hiked her legs over his hips and thrust inside her smoothly. Her head crashed into the doorjamb and she cried out at the sudden intrusion. "There's no love like yours, mother." Draco poured his truths into her ear, cradled her jaw as he fucked her. "And if we both get better with age…" He shifted his angle and wrapped an arm underneath her arse. "…Then I'd say in 50 years we'll be bloody perfect."

She chuckled. It was terribly sexy when her laughter was deepened by breathless gasps. "Oh, darling." Her fingers clawed in his silk-clad shoulders. "I think you're already perfect."

"Yeah?" He sucked at her racing pulse, timed his thrusts with it. "That's what every mother tells her son."

She seized him tightly to her, body tensing. "That's because it's always true," she keened. "Oh, hell Draco. I'm…"

_She never finishes that line_. He shoved a hand between them, slicked past their sweat to press his palm hard over her clit. "You're what?" He growled, pushed her through her orgasm, encouraged and prolonged it by undulating his hand against her quivering cunt.

She growled her release in his ear and milked him dry. "I'm falling."

"Woah!" Draco staggered, righted her while maintaining his own balance with wobbly knees. He snorted and perched on the edge of their garden tub, pulled her onto his lap. "Next time I'll choose a wider doorframe."

She reached for the bath's tap. "Well, since we're here…" They shed their costumes in a warm mist.

In the tub, Narcissa lay against her son's chest. "Hm." She was peering onto the floor.

"What?"

"I was just thinking." She sat up and swirled a finger through their charmed green bubbles. "Mint collects our laundry. Do you suppose…"

"Mum."

"Yes?"

"I've already told you I'm fairly certain the elf knows we're fucking."

She sighed. "Perhaps I've not been as careful as I should be of late."

"Mum."

"Yes?"

"I think it's known for a while now."

She tisked and settled, didn't seem as mortified as Draco would have expected. "Draco?" She sat up again, turned to him with a furrowed brow. "Is Mint male or female?"

Draco arched both brows. "I've no idea. I rather assumed you knew."

"I thought she was a female, but sometimes…" She shrugged.

"I thought he was a male."

She settled again. "I don't suppose it matters, really."

"No, not really."

They arrived fashionably late to Grimmauld Place, but the party seemed to be in full swing. The apparation instructions they'd followed had deposited them between two high hedgerows, but the cool evening air still penetrated their long traveling cloaks. Draco took a look around and gestured. "This way, mother."

They walked through a muggle park where a few costumed children played and a few costumed adults watched. It was the perfect night for a witch or wizard to pass through a muggle crowd with barely a look thrown, and maybe even receive a compliment or two on their attire.

The obviously charmed doorway of Grimmauld Place beckoned to them with it's dancing skeleton décor, and after hastily traversing a busy street and walkway littered with children, Draco gave the door's elaborate knocker one firm thunk. The host himself greeted them warmly. "Draco! Mrs. Malfoy! Come in, please!"

"Mr. Potter," Narcissa smiled. "Thank you so much for having us."

"I'm glad you could come. May I take your cloaks?" He shook Draco's hand while Narcissa disrobed, revealing her notoriously scanty costuming. "Good Gods…"

Draco smirked wryly, watching a gobsmacked Potter take in his mother. "Here, Harry." He thrust his own cloak at the Boy Who Lived to Stare at Other Boys' Mums Inappropriately.

"Uh…" Potter shook off what Draco knew to be a sudden and inexplicable urge to mate with something – anything – in order to hang their cloaks on a long wall of pegs. "Mrs. Malfoy. You look…" He trailed off and Draco slapped his shoulder, turning him physically.

"What the devil are you supposed to be, Potter? Some sort of muggle service person? Is that a gun?" He flicked at the plastic prop at Harry's hip. Narcissa blushed, affixing her intricate coils of hair as she followed the two wizards toward the musical din of a party. She didn't miss Harry's occasional over the shoulder glance at her.

"Er…I'm Han Solo," he muttered to Draco.

"Solo?" Draco clapped him again. "Nothing to be down about, Potter! Sounds like a hell of a party."

Ginny Weasley met them as Harry was leading them into the busy drawing room. "Oh, there you are!" She kissed Harry's cheek. "And how good to see you both again, Draco! Mrs. Malfoy! And as two more Greeks! How wonderful!" Even her eyes lingered on Narcissa's form, Draco noticed.

"Thank you, Miss Weasley," Draco intoned. "And if I might inquire…what is your costume?"

Ginny gave a little twirl, the gauzy white shift billowing about her. "I'm Princess Leia, of course!" She grinned at the Malfoys' confused expressions. "It's a muggle thing. Harry let me watch the movies. Come on in and have a drink!"

"I've never heard of this Princess Leia." Narcissa whispered in Draco's ear.

"Me, either. Must have something to do with pastries, though, judging by the hairstyle. Hello, Mr. Weasley!" Arthur had approached with two glasses of champagne, thrusting one into Draco's hand and using the other as an excuse to ogle his mother.

There were some impressive costumes about, making for odd dance partners occasionally. In fact, King Arthur seemed to be having a waltz with the back half of a horse at the moment.

"Oy, Malfoy."

Draco turned to see a robed Ron Weasley with hand out. They shook. "How are you, Weasley?" He was hyper-aware that Arthur was just behind him, crafting fantasies about his mum.

"I'm well. D'you read about the Cannons having to replace Scheckley? Damn tragedy that."

"Yeah. Yeah." Draco nodded, glancing back to see his mother roped into a conversation with both Weasley parents now. Obviously, Molly had sensed a threat… "The dangers of rogue bludgers, though."

"True." Weasley looked just past him, seeming to notice Narcissa for the first time. His eyes widened.

"Ron?" Harry was calling his friend, but his friend was captivated. "Ron!"

Draco nudged the ginger's elbow, gestured toward Harry.

"Oh!" Ron cleared his throat. "Yeah, mate?"

The two conversed and Draco made his way back to his mother, finally managing to navigate her away from the familiar faces a bit. "Alright, mum?"

"I'm a bloody spectacle," she hissed.

"You certainly are." Draco clinked his glass against her own. "I believe all the planets are here." He pointed to the corner where an elaborately charmed sun costume sipped a cider. "Rather good spell work on that one."

"Yes, it's quite bright." Narcissa agreed. "And look! There's the moon!"

The amorphous bright blue orb approached them and Draco cocked his head. "That's no moon, mum. That's Granger."

"Oh."

"Hello, Draco!" A very pregnant Hermione greeted him. "And Narcissa." Leave it to the Gryffindor know-it-all to call his mother by her first name. "I'm glad you both could make it." She saw her husband staring at Narcissa and flushed, the halo over her head tilting when she grabbed his arm. "Ron and I are Mary and Joseph. You know." She smiled through an obvious jealousy. "The Madonna?"

"Of course!" Narcissa laughed her tinkling social laugh that only Draco recognized as fake. "How very…clever."

"They're Caesar and Cleopatra," Ron said, nodding to the Malfoys.

Hermione scowled. "Ron. Cleopatra was Egyptian."

"Right." Ron looked back at the faltering Draco. "So you're King Tut, then?"

Hermione groaned, but Ron was corrected by an outside source before she had a chance to emasculate his intellect (or lack thereof).

"_That_ is the mighty Aphrodite herself," came the unmistakable timbre of the Minister of Magic. "And she is the goddess of this evening. No doubt."

Draco turned, gave a respectful bow. "Kingsley."

Shacklebolt took Narcissa's hand and laid a kiss to her knuckles. "Minister," she purred. "So lovely to see you."

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy." Kingsley didn't look away from Narcissa and Draco's nostrils flared.

"I see you are the other Greek, Minister." Draco spoke just as much to comment as to draw Kingsley's eye. "The Zeus to round out our Olympian triad?"

Kingsley laughed and tugged at his fake beard. "Well noted, Eros! I wanted to be Neptune but I had a hell of a time dancing in my fins. And speaking of dancing…" He looked back to Narcissa. "Is it too early for a request, my lady?"

"Of course not, Minister." She shot Draco a glare as Kingsley led her to the floor and the young Malfoy bristled. This attraction of Kingsley's was starting to be rather inconvenient. He snagged another glass of champagne from a passing tray.

"I think the Minister of Magic is rather fond of your mother, Mr. Malfoy."

He looked to the surprising commentary and faked a smile at Molly Weasley. "It would appear that way."

Molly patted his arm. "Well, you can't blame him. She was ever a lovely witch. Sometimes, I think she ages backwards."

"Huh. Try telling her that," Draco muttered. He watched Kingsley's hands, knew what her skin felt like beneath them. He watched his mother's face – could read every subtle nuance there. She wasn't exactly comfortable dancing with the Minister of Magic, but she wasn't going to betray propriety.

Besides, Draco imagined many wizards would dance with her before the night was through. He was glad so many people looked fondly on the mother/son dance as it was often the only they were able to dance together in public.

"Don't worry." Molly was still speaking, her grey-shot orange curls bobbing decisively. "Kingsley's a good man. He won't do anything inappropriate. Meantime, I should warn you you've caught the eyes of quite a few young single witches here!" She winked.

"Oh?" Draco grinned, a feeling of 'fuck it' coming over him. "Well, that's too bad for them, Mrs. Weasley. Because I think I'd like a dance with you."

She chortled and blushed. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy! You _are_ quite the charmer!"

It was the oddest feeling dancing with Molly Weasley. She had an enormous pair of breasts, and it seemed no matter how Draco situated himself, he couldn't avoid rubbing against them. Not to mention, the Brunhilde costume she sported had them shoved beneath his chin. It was a gravity-defying bosom, indeed.

When the song thankfully ended, Draco stepped away with a bow and a flustered Molly Weasley chuckled off to the kitchen. Another song began, but before Draco could spot his mother, Potter had approached him. "Draco. I wonder if I could have a brief word?"

"Sure, Harry." He scanned the room just over Potter's shoulder. Kingsley was dancing with his mother again.

"It's about the quidditch pitch." Harry led a reluctant Malfoy away from the drawing room and into the quieter dining room. A few people were collected round the table, noshing and chatting amiably. "You see, the pitch is a bit more than we imagined. More than we could have hoped for, really. Cider?"

"Thanks." Draco took the offered mug.

"It's a professional pitch, mate. A bloody tournament-size pitch!" Harry beamed. "Minerva's tickled pink, I tell you. We can host professional matches at Hogwarts! Make some extra money for the school if we want. I think she plans to."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Draco was wondering where Harry was headed with this.

"It's brilliant, Draco!" His smile grew serious. "We want to put up a plaque."

"A plaque?"

"You know." Harry gestured. "Something simple like 'Hogwarts thanks Draco Malfoy for this impressive quidditch pitch donated on the eight of September in the year whatever.' You know."

"_That's_ simple?" Draco was flabbergasted. "It's really not necessary," he insisted. "I'd rather not have the name stamped about the school. I mean – for Hogwarts' sake, that is."

Harry shook his head. "You really don't get it, mate. Malfoy doesn't mean what you think it means anymore. You've done enormous good for Hogwarts in more ways than one. And taking up for us on the Board of Governors is… Well, hell it's good to have someone there with our best interests at heart."

Draco hoped he wasn't blushing. "No plaques, Potter. Please." He touched Harry's elbow. "I appreciate the thought, but…" He shrugged. "I'll take tickets to a few of those professional games, though."

Harry laughed. "You're welcome at every Hogwarts game, Draco. I think you should know that."

Arthur Weasley approached on Harry's laughter. "Oh, what's so funny then, Harry? This ruffian dancing with my wife?" He nodded to Draco. "Thanks for that, Draco. Now she's aflutter for the rest of the night."

"It was a pleasure, Arthur." Draco joked back. "Harry was just telling me I've lifetime passes to Hogwarts quidditch matches."

"Oh?" Arthur turned to Potter. "And how does one go about getting one of those, Harry?"

Draco excused himself on that note. He peered back into the drawing room, but his mother and Kingsley were absent. "Hm." He wandered past the dining room and kitchen, not seeing them there. Out back was a terrace. Still no sign of his mother, but Luna Lovegood waved at him happily from her conversation with Neville Longbottom. She appeared to be dressed as some sort of tuber, while Longbottom was…a glove? _Weird couple…_

He meandered back inside, down the same hallway. He peeked into cracked doors, finding not his mother, but something that definitely drew his attention. He stepped further into this darkened empty room and drew his wand. "Lumos."

The sweeping, intricate limbs and leaves of the Black Family Tree suddenly surrounded him. "Gods," he murmured. He brushed his wand over the numerous names, faces and dates, tracing them forward and forward until he found his mother – the prettiest face of the family. 1955. He touched the tapestry beside her name. Lucius Malfoy. And the name underneath her name. Draco Malfoy.

He traced the line that connected him to the line between his parents, suddenly tempted to singe his father's face from the tapestry.

Bellatrix. Andromeda. His mother's family. His own family. What did he know of the Malfoys? Other than the fact the name was now a curse to be repaired by him.

"There you are!"

He looked to the door where Ginny Weasley stood. There was concern on her features. "We were looking for you. Have you seen your mother?"

"No. I was looking for her."

Ginny frowned. "I'm afraid there's been…an incident."

"An incident?" He followed her into the brightened hallway.

Ginny shrugged. "I'm sure it's nothing but a misunderstanding. Kingsley is under the impression he's upset your mother. Apparently she took off. I assume she was looking for you but now no one can find her."

"Upset her?" Draco tensed. _No need to over-react. _

But Ginny must have sensed his budding anger. "It's alright, Draco. Harry is talking to Kingsley now. He feels truly awful –"

"I have to find my mother." Draco was walking away from her, wand in hand.

"She's nowhere in the house," Ginny called after him.

"Then I'll simply have to leave the house." He stalked past murmuring guests. There was a minor unease about the place, as if the pleasant atmosphere had been interrupted. _If he touched her…_ He approached the main door. His mother's cloak was missing. He grabbed his own and entered the muggle world.

To the right were lit windows and doorways as far as he could see. To the left, was a quieter, dimmer path lined with wrought iron. He took the left, shrugging into his cloak. It had grown late, so the children were gone. All that remained were the carrying voices of late revelers and the autumn leaves on the brisk breeze. It was quite cold.

Beyond the wrought iron Draco observed headstones. A cemetery. How appropriate. Ahead, he heard the creaking of an open gate and a gentle crunch of leaves. He gripped his wand tighter beneath the cloak, checked behind him for followers. Seeing he was alone, he slipped through the gate.

The cemetery was silent, bordered by a high brick wall. There were several large trees mostly bare of leaves, and an impressive number of tombstones, vaults and monuments. Shadows cast beneath the bright hunter's moon made for a true Halloween ambiance.

He heard more footsteps and darted after the sound. "Mother?" Through the thick shadow of a spreading oak, he entered a secluded corner of the churchyard and spotted a cloaked figure in the archway of an ornate marble mausoleum.

"Draco."

"You scared the devil out of me." He approached her, reached for her shoulders and pulled her to him. "Are you alright? What the hell happened?"

"Nothing terrible." She shrugged at his embrace. "I just need some air."

"Ginny came and found me, said something about Kingsley –"

"I probably over-reacted," she said. "It was all quite embarrassing."

"Did he hurt you? Touch you?" He pushed her hood back from her head, saw her hair mussed and her eyes moist. "Mother…"

"He wanted to talk alone, so I went with him to the kitchen." She spoke rather quickly now, wanting to get things out before her son boiled over. "He told me that he can't stop thinking of me, that he…wants to know me better. To take me to dinner and such. But I told him I wasn't interested. I was so very nice, Draco and I felt so awkward trying to explain and very suddenly he…"

"He what?"

"He kissed me!" Her fingers touched her lips as if in disbelief.

"Kissed you?" Draco reigned in his temper, stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. "Then what happened?"

"I pushed him away and he apologized profusely." She shook her head. "I shouldn't have taken off the way I did. I'm certain I upset him."

"Upset _him_!" His voice raised despite his caution. "He kissed you! He's damned lucky you didn't hex his bollocks to bloody raisins!"

Narcissa tugged him into the mausoleum, afraid he would draw attention to them. "He's the Minister of Magic, Draco! I didn't really know what to do!"

"You should have called me."

She scoffed. "Oh, so _you_ could what? Duel him for my honor? How would that have looked, son?"

"Like a wizard defending his mother's dignity!"

"After he dressed her up like a Knockturn Alley whore?" He froze, stared at her. "Because I imagine I sent quite the mixed message dressed like this yet shoving wizards away when they want a taste."

"It wouldn't have mattered if you were bloody naked," Draco hissed. "He'd no right to assume he could just _take_ what belongs to –"

"_Belongs to?_" She swelled and Draco realized he'd misspoken. "Are you suggesting I _belong_ to someone? I assure you I'm my own witch, son. And I'm entitled to my insecurities, while we're on the topic of what's mine and yours. All night long I've felt like a piece of meat, and not in a good way! Their eyes eating me up, their minds thinking 'look at that desperate old witch clinging to a withering shred of youth – what was she thinking wearing that –'"

She didn't finish. Draco clamped a cold hand over her mouth. "Stop it. That's what this is really about, then. You still feeling like a shriveled old maid? You think they stared with mockery? You're an idiot. They either want you or want to be you. I think the Minister of Magic's tongue in your throat should prove that fact. And _yes_, I think of you as mine. I claimed you. I have exclusive rights to this." He pressed her backward until she yielded against a pristine sarcophagus. The Greek styled frieze on the side of the death-box imprinted on her calves.

"Draco!" She whispered loudly.

"What?" He opened her cloak. Let it fall to the stone floor. He dropped his own. She didn't fight his advances when he kissed her deeply. "You're exquisite. You're right. You can't blame him for wanting a taste." He lifted her deftly onto the cold marble slab, loving her yelp of surprise. "I want a taste, mother. A Halloween treat."

"Draco…" But her head fell back, white curls spilling across alabaster.

He slid the silken flap of her skirt aside, pulled a slip of knickers down her goosepimpled legs and over the braided sandals she wore. With grace he sprang up and between her thighs. On his knees, he towered over her, pulled his toga over his head. Her hands followed the material's progress, mapping the curves and planes of his chest and belly. "Oh, Draco." She kissed his stomach, tugged down on his briefs until his erection hit the cool night. He hissed, then groaned when her lips caressed the tip.

"Mother, don't." He pulled her away. A few quick tugs bared her breasts and he palmed them, kissing her as he urged her back to the smooth surface. He sucked at each nipple in turn, letting her experience the chill of October on wet skin. She gasped and arched as he licked a hot trail down the center of her of her body, pausing to swirl his tongue in her navel.

"Please, son!" She pushed gently at his head, eager for her favorite pleasure.

Draco smiled at her greed, thrilled she was so amenable to affections in this of all places. He curled his arms round her thighs, opened her and lapped her warm ambrosia. She twisted like the vines of a venemous tentacula, contorted her entire form. He saw several coils of curl drop over the edge of the tomb.

"So good," she murmured. Her breathy voice echoed in the chamber. "Draco, I want you inside me. I want to fuck you, baby, please."

And he wanted the same. He sucked one last long, loud suck on her clit before lunging up her body. His hips were eager to thrust. When his cold cock slid fast into her slick heat, they both cried out. "Oh, sweet goddess!" Draco spoke against her mouth, let her taste her essence on his lips and tongue. "You feel like heaven."

He felt one leg wrap high around his back and the other wrap low around his hip. She found an angle she enjoyed this way, and Draco tried to be conscious of the surface they were on and its effects on her back. He cradled her tightly and let his forearms take the punishment. The scrape was invigorating, and the occasional breeze on his balls was strangely extending his erection.

She wasn't complaining, rocking and rolling her hips to meet his thrusts, speaking her sin in his ears. "That's it, dragon. You fuck me so well, Draco. So so good to your Aphrodite." Her fingers clawed in his hair and she keened.

Draco answered with a growl when her thighs tensed. The muscles in her legs nearly crushed his spine. "I've an offering for you, my goddess mother." He bit at her chin as he spilled inside her.

An owl sounded in the distance. Their bites, growls and scratches slowed and gentled to kisses and caresses. "I'm sorry I dressed you like a whore," Draco murmured. He looked at her satisfied eyes. "I just wanted to show you how truly beautiful you still are to me. No matter how many years you amass."

She stroked his forehead, wiped off the thin and quickly drying sweat there. "I know. And I love you for it. Just know that I…I suppose I have to come to terms with my age on my own, Draco. I'll be reminded soon enough how young I am."

Draco chuffed laughter. "_This_ didn't remind you how young you are?"

She rolled them til she straddled him, gathering the strips of her costume to again strategically cover her breasts. "Reminds me how agile I am, at least." Clothed again and still shivering, she slipped off of the dais and gathered her knickers. "I suppose we should return to Mr. Potter's party and smooth things over."

Draco rose reluctantly and took his toga and cloak from her. "What will you say to Kingsley?"

She was buttoning her cloak at her neck. "That I am sorry for reacting so poorly and that I'm flattered by his advances, but not interested in any romantic relationships right now. Sound good?"

He nodded as he dressed. "Very sensible. Then we'll go home?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. I do enjoy a nice warm, proper fuck in a nice warm, proper bed." They kissed a last lingering kiss. Draco affixed a few coils of her hair and she arranged a few skewed bits of his. "And mother?"

"Mm-hm?"

"You _are_ mine."

She smiled an almost secret smile as they walked from the mausoleum. "Indeed I am, love. Indeed I am."

Their soft laughter echoed through the cemetery. The owl in the oak tree hooted, and below him, a figure stepped from the inky shadow.

His eyes were wide with the reality of what he'd seen. Disbelief and shock numbed his limbs even inside his heavy coat. "Merlin…" He whispered. He rubbed a hand down his face and twitched in his trousers. An icy temptation gripped him, made his cock hard and aching.

They'd simply been so beautiful together. So perfect. Like an extension of the marble they'd coupled on, the Malfoys were flawless. As if the Greek statues of old had animated and then mated beneath this magical moon of Athena. Yes, they were mother and son, but they were a veritable awakening of lust in his eyes. He wanted to weep, his emotions torn and at war.

For even at the height of his disgust at what he'd witnessed (_bloody incest!)_, he'd been shamefully unable to look away. And now, most terrifyingly, Harry Potter realized he wanted to see _more of them_…

**AN: **Yes, that's right. It was Harry. Now the possibilities are endless. And I promised several people I would address the issue of Mint's gender eventually. So there. Probably not what you had in mind. But I'll admit even I don't know what sex the elf is. Thanks for reading, everyone, and I hope you enjoyed it! Your reviews and messages are always great delights.


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